Page 5 of Personal Foul
Chapter Two
Sydney
Gripping the bottle of wine and the bag of takeout in my hand, I let out a deep breath when reaching my fist out to knock on the door.
Am I really making the first move right now?
I am. What the hell is wrong with me?
Before I have a chance to flee down the hall, the lock on the door clicks, and the door swings open. I’m face-to-face with those dimples and his cheeky smirk, and I’m left wondering why I was questioning this decision to begin with.
“Sydney.” He grins.
“Colson.” I bite down on my lower lip to prevent my smile from splitting my face in half. What is it about him that sends my mind and my nerves into a frenzy?
Holding up the bottle of wine, I manage to regain some sense of composure and spit out the words I was meaning to say that brought me to his door.
“I know you just flew in, and it’s been a crazy day, but I was hoping I could thank you with dinner. Chinese. Wine. You in?”
“Did you say Chinese?” His mouth falls open. For a second, I worry he might have a history with Chinese food, swearing off it for the rest of his life, concern etched on my face watching him press his hand against his stomach.
“Yeah, sesame chicken and egg rolls. China House is one of the best restaurants in Miami. You said you were new to the area. You have to try it.”
“Well, I’m not about to say no to a beautiful woman feeding me the best Chinese in Miami.”
He takes a step back, holding the door open for me to pass through. He wasn’t lying when he said he just moved here.
“You’ll have to forgive me for how my place looks right now. It’s a little messy.”
He gives a self-deprecating laugh, reaching his hand up and motioning to the boxes stacked against the wall of the living room. He runs his hand over the back of his neck, causing the muscles in his arm to flex.
“You’re good. I moved in last week, finally got all my stuff unpacked over the weekend. I’m starting a new job on Monday, so I knew I wouldn’t have the time. Not to mention, I didn’t want to be left without anything to wear.”
Colson’s eyes flash to me, down to my denim shorts and white, cotton T-shirt tied at my waist. Something tells me he was picturing what I might look like when I show up to work, or with nothing on at all. His eyes connect with mine, desire flashing over his face. We can both feel the heat simmering under the surface.
He clears his throat, changing the subject. “Well, let’s see what we can find to dish up our food.”
It seems the realization hits both of us as he chuckles, turning his head toward the kitchen.
“Yeah…let’s.”
My feet pad across the hardwood floors, through the entryway to the bar lining the kitchen.
He comes around the bar, standing next to me with two plates, silverware, and two wine glasses. Immediately, I reach for my wine glass and waste no time to pop the cork, pouring a heavy glass.
“Sorry, I still feel like my nerves are fried from earlier.”
Never mind the fact being around him erupts butterflies in my stomach and the warm zap through my body when his arm brushes mine is unlike anything I’ve felt in a long time.
For the last four years, I’ve been laser-focused on my schooling. Growing up, I had a hard childhood. After I was adopted, I spent most of my teenage years living in a sports family. Basketball had become one of my passions the first time my dad brought me with him to practice.
I’ve kept most of my relationships strictly in the friend zone, not wanting to lose focus on the end goal. I guess I’ve chosen to keep things surface level, not willing to open up at the risk of getting hurt as I have in the past.
We both take a seat at the bar, dishing out our plates of food. The conversation flows easily. I take in the relaxed smile on Colson’s face while his dark eyelashes and warm caramel eyes flash over at me. At the same time, he talks about his recent trip back to Colorado to see his family, and we bond over our decision to move to Miami for our careers.
He makes a comment about how it’s been a while since he’s seen the ocean, and I make a mental note to drag him with me down to the beach when things settle down over the next couple weeks.
Colson pours himself a glass of wine, but it isn’t until I reach for the bottle to pour myself a second glass, I notice he still hasn’t touched his. Swirling the wine in my glass, I take a drink, feeling the effects hit me.
